stoat stoat

His time with Tyrfing had been interesting and informative, though still the blue-furred boy couldn't help but feel like there was something missing in his new, expanded world. Fireside was gone and with it, his family had scattered to the winds. Most of his siblings had gone off in search of Sparrow and her pirates, but Mitros did not get an ignition of excitement in his chest at the thought of spending the rest of his (hopefully) long life drunking and raiding and pillaging. In fact, no matter what pack he looked at as a potential new home, none of them seemed quite fitting.

His birthday was steadily approaching and with it, the time for him to choose a new place to belong was racing up on him. He was going to be a yearling - practically an adult, for all he was concerned! Able to hold his own rank, make his own decisions, and determine his own path. He still did not fully understand under what circumstances he could make proud his family, shed his Regni name and become a true Imperialis, but Mitros knew if he spent his life in search of it he'd only frustrate himself and fail even more.

His first test would be this hunt, initiated on the night before his first birthday. Absently, he wondered what his siblings were going to be doing to celebrate. Would they be surrounded with family and tradition? Or would they have truly fell into the pirate mold and be drinking and partying to welcome their independence? He sighed, pushing the thought from his mind and continuing forward through the snow. Tyrfing was still asleep in the small den they had found and claimed for the week, but Mitros knew that his cousin was not the sort to be over-protective. He made no move to hide his pawsteps, if the purple-hued man chose to seek him out, it would not be hard for him to accompany him.

The snow made things interesting, adding both a layer of difficulty and ease to the tracking work required of him. He'd picked up the stoat's trail early on in the evening, identifying it from the small prints left crisply in the soft snow and the way every few feet he'd find the gentle drag of it's tail. From it's pawsteps alone he could estimate it's weight, it's length, and what direction it was heading. Surely hunting never got any easier then this, right?

He continued on after the trail, his strides elongating into a ground eating lope as he realized the track was not as fresh as he assumed. Mitros' nose occasionally lifted to the air in search of a scent, but it seemed such things were dampened by the humidity and moisture. The thing might have darted into a nearby snowbank for a rest, for all he could smell. His sight struggled, too, a gust of wind occasionally sending a thin sheet of sleet into his face, and kicking up the powdered snow upon the ground into a near-mist.

Focus on the pawprints then, he decided. It took him near an hour to get close enough where he had ceased his even paced lope. These prints were more fresh, and while the snow did well to dampen the environmental noise, occasionally a cracking beneath his paw would break the silence and risk alerting his prey.

He saw it before he smelled it, watching as it's long fluffy tail pranced sharply to the right and behind a nearby boulder. Mitros leaped after it, grunting softly as his jump brought him further into the snow then he'd expected. It slowed his movements, but surely he could still keep up with such an insignificant predator. Mitros' strides lengthened once more, his tongue lolling out in a pant as he broke for a sprint, pale, colorless eyes fixed upon the bouncing tail. Once he was confident with his distance, the young wolf made for one last leap, over-calculating it to make up for the difficulties in the snow and landing his body firmly overtop it. His paws came down swiftly upon the small body, working on instinct more then anything else now, and soon after followed his jaws.

The kill was clean and the stoat's pained gasp lasted only a brief moment. Mitros squeezed his jaws harder to ensure it's merciful passing, only releasing it once he was sure he'd felt no more resistance in it's small frame. Mitros adjusted his grip to hold it by the tail, noticing as the shifting of it's body splattered blood down onto the snow below. It would have provided an issue, had he been intending to hide from anyone, but Mitros was as unflappable as he was quiet. Giving the growing puddle a dispassionate final glance, he turned from the kill site and headed home, intent on showing to his cousin what he had accomplished.

Word Count: 816